Ok – I’m slowly beginning to get this place. Being hauled in by the Congo FBI presents you with a fairly steep learning curve.

I was taking a photo on the main street of Goma (Congo DR), when suddenly there were two guys looming over me demanding my papers. They were in plain clothes, so I asked who they were and also to see their IDs. Sure enough they presented cards from the Ministry of Information. Oops.

I showed them my authorization permits. And slowly but surely they picked apart every sentence in the document trying to illustrate how I was in the wrong. Somehow, (they weren’t quite sure where) but I was definitely in the wrong. One by one I pointed to different parts of the document  to illustrate that the dates were correct, that my authorization was for photographing in this region, that it had been stamped by the ministry. In the end they declared that I was still in the wrong since I had failed to get the local FBI chief to sign the documents and now I needed to come with them...

Somehow that invitation didn’t sound all that inviting. I may sound like I was calm but inside,  I was literally bricking it. I called a person I met who is the local head of a major NGO and asked her advice. I also flashed her card at the leader of the group of agents which by now had somehow become 5 in total. They sensed blood and were descending for the kill. Mentioning my friend seemed to help quite a lot: I had contacts.

They were at all times polite but acted very upset – like I had kissed their granny with a little too much tongue action. My friend advised me to do one thing – TALK. She said they’re looking for a bribe but don’t give them much and don’t give it quickly. Make it very difficult for them. If you pay now they’ll see you as a soft touch and they’ll plague you for your whole time here. And so the games began.   

We walked, we shook hands on every detail that we agreed on. While the apparent leader was on the phone to a superior I introduced a new topic of conversation “the merits of the Congolese climate” – years of climatological discourse in Ireland finally paid of as my expertese and passion about the matter really threw them. It seemed as though the weather was infact quite a novel topic of conversation for them and they were only too delighted to join in.   

Still, they told me that they would have to follow me to my hotel where we could discuss the matter of the autorization further. We walked...and I talked. And talked and talked. This seemed to create a minor bond of sorts and soon we were all on a first name basis.   

My friend had told me they’re less likely to cause you hassle if you’re friends with them. It sounded like a pretty darn good bit of advice to me so so I was working on that premise.   

As I complimented them on their weather and bemoaned the rain and cold of my beautiful mother country (drawing careful, pointed comparisons with their sun drenched land) they grew more animated. They grew more curious. And as I told them more and more...they grew more pity. Now they were accosting someone from a country that barely saw the sun! First no sun, now this. Poor wazungu!    

They all took turns to ask questions about our awful land of unending drizzle.    

Still, they followed me to my hotel. Lurked outside the door and hissed for my attention as I made a second call to my friend for any update on advice.   

She spoke briefly with their leader and then recommended to me that I buy them a beer and continue chatting. And so I did.    I ordered beers for myself and my entourage – now 6.    Eventually, their leader who had been on the phone much of the time latched onto the topic of the moment – this rare conversational gem, “the weather”. As it turned out he was quite an expert. It’s hard to convey in words the delight he took in explaining to me why the weather in the DRC is as it is. I’ll try...    

He began with the sun. He told me that the rays from the sun in the Congo heat the water of the lakes in the Congo and transform it into clouds. Those clouds then let out water again. In the form of rain. I sat quietly, listened attentively and nodded at all the appropriate moments. I think I may have thrown in an “ahh” for good measure.

Satisfied that he was now an authority, and with the beers taking an age to arrive (we’re in Africa remember!) he told me that his team were under pressure to get back to work and wouldn’t have time to wait for the drink...but perhaps they might enjoy it later. Growing swiftly in my knowlege of the subtle art of bribery, I picked up on this delicate cue and offered him the money for the drinks that he might buy the boys one later – when they went off duty.   

He happily accepted.   

I thought we were done...until one of his subordinates said it wasn’t enough to buy him a drink. He said that his favourite drink was more expensive than a beer. So here we go again I thought. Poker time.   

Taking my friends advice I quickly turned to the leader and said to him “I feel sorry for you, I’d hate to go drinking with him!”  jerking my thumb at the subordinate and tapping the leader on the shoulder as good friends do. The leader chuckled. I glanced at the subordinate whose face had suddenly lost much of it’s bravado. I sensed blood and went in for the kill.   

“What can I get you, sir? A bottle of champagne perhaps? No. No! Two. Why not two. Have two. I insist. Please.”   

He squirmed in his seat as the leader and his comrades giggled in glee. I tried to remain all ‘Jack Dee’ about it.   

The leader rose shaking his head in laughter and I knew I was in the clear. He told me to pop into the office the following morning and sign in to the local register to alert the Ministry to my presence on a formal basis. I told him I would.    As we rose, the leader shook his head in utter confusion. “I just don’t understand”, he said as he looked at me with a troubled expression. “In your country, if you get so little sun, how is it that you have so many clouds to cause so much rain?” A true chestnut indeed!  But, as I rose from the table it hit me like a lightning bolt.   

Unable to resist the temptation I blurted out my own gem: “the wind!”, I said. “There’s too much sunshine in the Congo for the small amount of rain you get. The wind blows most of your clouds up over Ireland. It’s a balance. You’re the lucky ones. You get the sunshine, we get the rain!”   

Slowly as the logic sank in a warm, nostalgic smile grew on his face. He remembered now, I was quite right - he had read something about this in his school days. He nodded appreciatively and shook my hand firmly. He seemed genuinely delighted to have cracked the problem.    

As we both walked away from the table I thought to myself that we had both given each other some sort of useful lesson.

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